


I Won't Make You

by worrisomeme



Series: Fall [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Master/Slave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-13 20:17:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9140644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/worrisomeme/pseuds/worrisomeme
Summary: Chris is twelve years old when he and Scott find out about his mom and her past as a slave. That day, they swear an oath to each other to follow in their father’s footsteps. They have seen the way most people treat slaves and it disgusts them. They can’t even imagine their mom ever having gone through something like that. They try not to think of all the people they can’t help.Now, as an adult, it makes him feel kind of sleazy, browsing the websites and going to the underground clubs. He’s doing it for a good reason, he reminds himself. He can’t help everyone, maybe, but he can help someone. In his most expensive suit he almost fits in with these people and that makes him shudder, but the thought of saving someone tonight helps him push past the scummy feeling as he makes his way through the dimly-lit room.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [luninosity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luninosity/gifts).



> This takes place before/during part 1 of the series [Globes and Maps](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8161108)
> 
> Written for Luni because she is an amazing friend! Thank you for being there for me and cheering me up when my depression gets bad<3

Chris is twelve years old when he and Scott find out about his mom and her past as a slave. That day, they swear an oath to each other to follow in their father’s footsteps. They have seen the way most people treat slaves and it disgusts them. They can’t even imagine their mom ever having gone through something like that. They try not to think of all the people they can’t help.

Now, as an adult, it makes him feel kind of sleazy, browsing the websites and going to the underground clubs. He’s doing it for a good reason, he reminds himself. He can’t help _everyone_ , maybe, but he can help _someone_. In his most expensive suit he almost fits in with these people and that makes him shudder, but the thought of saving someone tonight helps him push past the scummy feeling as he makes his way through the dimly-lit room.

“Did you see 40481?” he overhears a woman asking her friend. Her laughter is cruel and ice cold. “He’s so doped up, he’s barely even conscious.”

“Didn’t you hear what happened?” her friend replies, catty.

“Oh my god, no! What happened?!” she asks, hungry for the gossip.

“He _bit_ Dennis Ulrick! In the…” he trails off and gestures toward his lap. “Nearly clean off!”

The woman gasps, covering her mouth in horror. “No way!”

“Mmmmhm,” her friend hums. “I feel bad for the next guy that gets him.”

Chris wanders away, snickering. He knows exactly the kind of guy Dennis Ulrick is and he is 100% sure that motherfucker deserved every agonizing second.

He finds himself at the viewing wall, entirely made of one-way glass. On the other side are the tiny rooms where the slaves are kept until they’re bought. They’re more like holding cells, Chris thinks. He makes his way along the wall until he finds the one labeled 40481.

It’s just as bad as he had expected and his heart breaks instantly. The poor guy has scars and the last remnants of fading bruises all along his naked torso and thighs. They’ve propped him upright against the back wall so everyone can get a good look at him, but they’ve seriously sedated him. He looks barely conscious, just like the woman had said, and probably not at all aware of where he is. His brown hair is dirty and hangs in his face. Every inch of him is dirty, really, like they’d kicked him around the parking lot a few times. The assholes are probably too scared of him to go in there and even wash him.

But through all the dirt and bruises Chris can see how beautiful he is and he loves him instantly. This is him, he thinks.

Determined now, he makes his way to the office at the back of the club.

“Hey! Chrissy boy! Find your soulmate yet?” the owner, Richard, teases Chris as he leans against the door frame. His body guard, Jake, snickers behind him.

“I have, actually, yeah,” Chris replies without humor. He steps into the room and kicks the door closed behind him. “40481.”

Richard and Jake both burst into laughter. It takes them a full minute to settle down.

“You would, Evans,” Jake mumbles through his last chuckles.

“I’m serious,” Chris replies, still not even cracking a smile. “Money isn’t an object. Give me the papers.”

Jake doubles over in whole new fits of laughter, but Richard looks surprised. “Nah, you don’t want that one Chris. You heard the stories? He _bites,_ man.” When Chris just cocks an eyebrow at him, though, Richard just shakes his head and starts ruffling through his drawer. “You’re really serious, huh? Alright then, it’s your life buddy.” He manages to find the packet and slaps it on the desk in front of him.

“It’s your dick,” Jake mutters under his breath and he and Richard start a whole new round of laughter.

It’s only now that Chris finally sits down. He takes the offered pen and spends the next fifteen minutes filling out the arduous paperwork. When he’s done, he feels lighter.

“Alright tough guy,” Richard says, flipping through the packet, double checking to make sure everything’s filled out properly. “We’ll have him to you in the morning.”

Chris stands up and holds his card out to the older man but pulls it back at the last second, giving him a stern look. “I don’t want your men to hurt one damn hair on his head, you hear me? Not one.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say,” Richard replies, snatching the card from the other’s hand the second it’s offered again. He runs the card quickly and practically tosses it back, like he’s afraid Chris’s caught the biting bug just from looking at the guy.

“I mean it. Technically, he’s _mine_ now and I want him unharmed.” He feels a little sick just saying it, but he knows it’s the only way to get through to these people, the only way to guarantee the guy’s safety. To get what you want with these kind of people, you have to speak their language.

“Okay, okay. You have my word,” Richard says, holding his hands up in surrender. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

 

*

 

Chris spends the rest of that night preparing. As much as he can, anyway. There’s really not a whole lot he can do without knowing anything about his new… slave. God, he hates that word. Guest, he settles on. It still feels icky, but less so. And shit, he doesn’t even know the guy’s name. He can’t go shopping for his favorite foods or even get any clothes because he has no idea what he might like.

So, really, Chris mostly just spends the rest of that night waiting. He cleans up a little, piles extra blankets and pillows on the bed, extra towels in the bathroom. He makes sure all of his laundry is clean. The guy is smaller than him, especially malnourished as he most definitely is right now, but at least Chris’ own clothes will be big and comfy for him.

Anxious, he paces his penthouse apartment, turns on his favorite Disney movie, but then can’t pay attention and turns it back off again. He reads a couple of work emails about movies that he’s hoping to compose for in the future, though he _has_ sworn to take a good amount of time off work to get to know his new… guest. It’s not like he can’t afford it, after all. But still, the emails are something to do.

He cleans again. And again. And again. Double and triple checking for dust or grime settled into corners and crevices. He turns on The Little Mermaid again. Then turns it off again. He tries to read, but his mind is racing and he can’t focus. He tries to sleep, but his mind won’t shut up long enough. By the time the doorbell rings the next morning, he’s only gotten a couple hours of sleep.

Chris yawns and stretches as he makes his way to the front door and he’s a little perplexed at the sight as he holds it open.

“Is this normal?” he asks the men as they haul his new guest’s unconscious body into the apartment.

They’ve finally washed him, probably more thoroughly than he was happy about, but he’s restrained now. Tightly. He doesn’t look… injured, so to speak, though. So that’s something, at least.

“No,” the guy holding on to the guy’s feet grunts.

“He’s a fighter,” the second, at his wrists, adds.

“You can just… um… leave him here,” Chris gestures vaguely to the plush carpet at his feet. “Hey!” he shouts when they drop him.

“Sorry,” the first man replies with a little shrug, not sorry at all, as the second removes the restraints.

Chris scowls but fights the urge to lecture the men. “How long is he going to be… uh… asleep?” he asks.

The first man gives another vague little shrug and Chris just rolls his eyes and sighs. “Fine, whatever. Thanks anyway.”

He signs the final paperwork they hand over and is ushering them out the door when the second man says, like an afterthought, “Oh, just a tip. He’ll pretend he can’t understand or speak English. It’s bullshit.” Then he hands Chris his half of the paperwork (medical information mostly) and is gone.

Chris lets out another little sigh, equal parts annoyance and relief, once the door is finally closed behind them. He tosses the packet onto the coffee table (he’ll get to that later) and inspects the sleeping man at his feet.

It only lasts for a moment, though, because then he’s thinking that he should probably get the poor guy into the actual bed. It’s not easy, seeing as he’s dead weight right now, but Chris doesn’t put in those hours at the gym for nothing and he manages to haul the guy up over his shoulder.

He lays him in the bed and gets him dressed in his softest pair of sweatpants and a v-neck. He hesitates over the collar, but it’s loose and thin and soft leather, not to mention it’s just a simple buckle that the guy could get off easily when he wakes up if he wants, so ultimately he decides to slip it onto him.

Once he’s dressed, Chris slips the covers over him and tucks him in, then makes his way back out to read the paperwork more thoroughly. If he can’t learn about the stranger’s likes and dislikes, he can at least read over the medical report. That way he can do research if there’s any physical issues, and avoid any food he might be allergic to. That seems like a responsible thing to do, right?

He’s just finishing up with the packet when he hears his bedroom door click shut. Good, he’s up. He was just about to make some lunch anyway (is it lunch or breakfast if your first meal of the day is at about noon?).

He gets a tray together with food for them both, just some quick sandwiches and some fruit, and makes his way back to the bedroom. He’s surprised, however, when he goes to turn the knob and it’s locked. He chuckles to himself and balances the food tray in one hand as he tries the knob again, just in case it’s stuck instead of locked.

Nope. Locked.

“I see you’re awake,” Chris says, loud enough to be heard through the door but keeping his tone soothing. “Did you lock the door?” he asks. Amused, he teases, “I mean, they told me you were feisty, but –“

He’s cut off by the stranger shouting, “Pleacă!” He’s not sure what it means but he gets the idea. The paperwork had said he was Romanian, so that’s what that must be. He makes a mental note to work on learning it at some point in the near future.

Chris _could_ go get the key and unlock the door, but there’s a reason he locked himself in there and Chris wants to build his trust, so he leaves it be. He shifts the tray in his hands, still hoping to be let in, and calls, amused, “I know you both understand and speak English. But I don’t speak Romanian. That’s where you’re from, right? I know sometimes people who don’t care get countries wrong.” He’s rambling again. Shut up Chris.

“Du te dracul!” the brunet shouts, cutting off his train of thought.

Chris chuckles and shakes his head, but then a sad thought crosses his mind. What if he thinks he’s being laughed at? Chris doesn’t mean to sound cruel, he just thinks the stranger is cute. His tone goes somber suddenly. “Will you at least tell me your name?” he asks. “All they gave me was your number.”

“Mai bine mor!”

Okay, so he’s going to make Chris work for it. That’s fine. He’ll work as hard as he has to to earn this stranger’s trust. He huffs out a sad little laugh and sets the tray on the floor in front of the door.

“I made lunch,” he says after a moment of silence. “I’m leaving yours here for you. I’m going to go eat in the living room.” He leans against the door, pressing his mouth right up to the crack where it meets the frame. “Please eat something,” he pleads. “It’s not a trap, I promise. You can have all the space you need.” Then he sighs and makes his way back to the living room with his own plate of food.

Hours later, the door still hasn’t open. Well, he can’t really blame the guy. He hasn’t eaten yet either. And if Dennis was his only owner, or any others were just like him, he probably has some serious trust issues.

Chris’ attempt with dinner goes about as well as lunch had and he begs the stranger to eat, but he doesn’t think he’s going to convince him. Not tonight. He doesn’t even get yelled at this time, just silence. He’s about to leave him alone and settle in on the couch for the night when he realizes he’s been asking, but hasn’t even told the guy his own name.

He turns back just as he’s about to leave, touches a hand to the door gently, and adds. “My name’s Chris,” before padding down the hallway.

 

*

 

Chris starts spending time between meals just sitting outside of his locked door, talking to the brunet and trying to get a response out of him. He still gets nothing but silence or shouting in Romanian in reply, but he still keeps trying.

It’s the morning of the fourth day when Chris can’t take it anymore. Four days he’s been with Chris and he hasn’t eaten once. And who knows if he’d eaten at all while he was being held at the club, or how long he was there, for that matter. He has to do something. He won’t let him starve to death.

He starts the coffee pot and gets the food going before digging out the key to his bedroom door. I had been tucked inside a desk drawer. He finishes the food and sets that and a cup of coffee up on a tray before finally making his way to the bedroom.

He tries the handle once, but it’s still locked so he takes the key from his pocket and takes a deep breath before unlocking the door.

It takes him a moment to move once he pushes the door open, stunned a little by the sight in front of him. The brunet is more beautiful than he’d remembered and sound asleep curled up on his bed. He hadn’t even bothered to get under the covers.

Chris sets the tray of food down on the nightstand and lets himself indulge in staring for just a moment longer before making his way back out of the room. He doesn’t lock the door on his way out, but he does close it. He doesn’t want him to freak out the second he wakes up, after all.

Chris gets his own food and settles outside of the door to eat, browsing the internet on his phone as he does. When he’s finished and he still hasn’t heard stirring inside the room, he brings his dishes back to the kitchen and then just settles back down right outside the door.

He really needs to shower, but he at least wants to wait until the guy is awake before barging in there. So he pulls his phone back out and sends a text to his brother.

[ **Chris:** Day 4. I had to let myself in and give him some food. Waiting for him to wake up. He still hasn’t eaten.]

Scott replies immediately.

[ **Scott:** That’s rough :/ Just keep being you bro. He’ll come around.]

[ **Chris:** Thanks<3]

Scott replies again, but Chris doesn’t check it because suddenly he hears the bed shifting and dishes clinking from inside the room. He smiles, pushes himself to his feel, and calls, “Morning beautiful.”

No response. Of course.

“Is it okay if I come in?”

He waits a while and when he _still_ doesn’t get a response, he finally calls, “If you don’t say something, I’m going to take that as a yes. Mostly because we’re on day four of this and I really need to shower and change. But also because I know by now that if you really had a problem with it you’d be shouting things at me I don’t understand.” He laughs at the thought. He kind of likes it when the brunet is shouting at him in Romanian.

Another long moment passes and Chris takes that as a yes, as warned. He steps into the room and it’s only when he sees the look on the other man’s face that he realizes this is the first time he’s seeing Chris. And he clearly likes what he sees. That’s something, at least. Right?

But he has time to worry about that later. The man starts to scramble to get off the bed but Chris waves a hand at him as he heads to the bathroom. “Don’t get up on my account,” he says, glancing over his shoulder at the stranger. “But, if you want, there is more coffee in the kitchen. All the way at the end of the hall. You can’t miss it.” And with that he slips into the bathroom, not closing the door behind him.

The shower feels like heaven after four days, and he barely hears the other man’s footsteps padding out of the room and the bed shifting has he gets out of and back into it. He’s snuggled up under the blankets when Chris finally emerges from the bathroom, clean-shaven now with a towel wrapped around his waist.

Could he have grabbed clothes before heading into the shower? Yes. Did he want to see if he would get another positive reaction out of the stranger? Also yes. So, there he is in nothing but a towel. The guy nearly chokes on his coffee. Chris can’t help but grin a little as he makes his way into the closet.

Chris hears the door to the balcony open as he tugs on a clean shirt and when he enters the bedroom again he sees the brunet leaning against the railing, watching the people below.

He decides to join him, leaning right next to him on the railing, close, but not enough to be touching him. He feels the stranger bristle a little, but fights the urge to pull away or slip a comforting arm around his waist.

“So,” he asks instead, “are you going to tell me your name yet?”

The brunet hesitates, eyeing him warily, but eventually shifts his gaze back to the city spread out in front of them. Chris is just about to give up and leave, when the other whispers, “Sebastian.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope everyone enjoyed this!!
> 
> As usual, comments, kudos, etc etc etc as sososo appreciated!<3 <3 <3 <3 And you can always find me on [tumblr](http://worrisomeme.tumblr.com).


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